The girl I’m leaving behind.

There’s a version of me I don’t talk about much anymore.

Not because I’m ashamed of her—

but because I barely recognize her anymore.

She was quieter.

Softer in a way that bent too easily.

The kind of strong that looked like staying

even when everything in her was telling her to go.

She gave people the benefit of the doubt

long after they proved they didn’t deserve it.

She overexplained.

Overextended.

Overgave.

She thought love meant endurance.

That if she just tried harder, stayed longer,

showed up better…

things would change.

They didn’t.

⸻

She carried things that were never hers to hold.

Other people’s expectations.

Other people’s emotions.

Other people’s silence.

And when it got heavy—

she didn’t put it down.

She adjusted.

That’s what she was good at.

Adjusting.

Minimizing.

Making herself smaller so everything else could stay comfortable.

⸻

I understand her now in a way I couldn’t before.

She wasn’t weak.

She was trying to survive in places

that required her to disappear.

And she did what she had to do

with what she knew at the time.

⸻

But I’m not her anymore.

And that’s where this gets hard.

Because letting go of her

means letting go of the version of me

that people were used to.

The one who stayed.

The one who didn’t push back.

The one who made it easy for everyone else

even when it cost me everything.

That version of me was easier to love.

This one?

She has boundaries.

She asks questions.

She says no.

She leaves when something doesn’t feel right.

And not everyone likes her.

⸻

But I do.

And that’s the difference.

⸻

I’m not becoming someone new.

I’m becoming someone honest.

Someone who doesn’t confuse self-sacrifice with strength.

Someone who doesn’t call survival “living.”

Someone who knows the difference between love

and losing herself trying to keep it.

⸻

That girl got me here.

She carried me through things

I didn’t think I’d make it out of.

She deserves to be acknowledged.

She deserves to be respected.

But she doesn’t get to lead anymore.

⸻

So I’m letting her go.

Not with anger.

Not with regret.

But with understanding.

And maybe even a little gratitude.

Because without her…

I wouldn’t be this version of me.

The one who stands.

The one who speaks.

The one who doesn’t shrink to be chosen.

⸻

And if you’re somewhere in between—

between who you were

and who you’re becoming just know this:

You don’t have to hate the version of you that survived.

But you don’t have to stay her either.